Rains and Ruin
by Sanst
Summary: As if the freak weather and blackouts weren't enough, digimon begin emerging again in the real world for the first time in ten years. Hypnos are unable to keep the situation under control, and begin to prepare Haddath, the most brutal of their deletion programs yet. But in all the confusion, the Tamer's digimon return, along with a strange young man calling himself Haru.


**Rains and Ruin** _» by Sanst _

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Digimon or the characters, no money is being made from this.

**Author Notes: **Plotline picks up ten years after the original Tamers. The story resumes after the_ Message in the Packet_ audio tapes and since then, they've had no contact with their digimon. Short chapter this time round as it's the first natural break in the story, but they will get longer.

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**Bruised Skies  
**

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Vodka, noodles and deep-fried something. Deep-fried something laced with the coppery tang of blood, the rain on the tarmac mingling with the last traces of cigarette smoke. Car exhaust, human sweat, leftover food rotting in bin-bags, blocked drains and a hundred more things he couldn't hope to identify. The overload of information crashed into his senses as he came to, everything and anything around him overwhelming him after that first conscious breath as it always did; he clapped a hand over his face in an effort to staunch the smell. A dull ache settled in the bridge of his nose, as he squeezed his stinging eyes shut and blinked away the tears that had gathered.

A cigarette butt floated along a puddle not far from where he laid. He lifted his head from the asphalt. _  
_

That all too familiar burning, prickling sensation lingered unpleasantly on his skin; that was what gave it away. He knew before he raised his head to look up at the digital field. Fragments of shimmering data scattered about, clinging to whatever they could find – the walls, the dumpster nearby, his clothes and skin. The thick fog was all that remained now, the gate had gone. Orange light sputtered just beyond the grey haze.

He pushed down the panic that threatened to well up again in his throat. Had he been followed? He sat up too fast and tried to ignore the wave of nausea that took over. No, if that were true he probably wouldn't have woken up. It was dark and the fog made it impossible to see more than a few metres around him. He scowled, casting glances into the dark. The silence was suffocating; it was the same strange, unnatural quiet that always came hand in hand with the fog, it unnerved him. Only his ragged breathing broke through the shroud of quiet, though even that sounded muffled to his ears as if the fog drained all sound.

He must have blacked out. Everything slowly slotted back into place. Thoughts raced, chased each other around his head and it took him a moment to understand where he was and how to move. Shaky with relief, the young man drew in a deep, rib-creaking breath and let it hiss out between clenched teeth. His lungs burned, and cramps made knots of pain in his legs. Blood ran freely from the punctures in his arm, the pain a sharp throbbing that kept time with his heart.

Swearing under his breath, he pulled himself up unsteadily, leaving behind a wet red handprint on the brim of the dumpster. The world swam out of focus, but he paid it no mind. He staggered out onto the main street gripping an injured arm, glad to distance himself from the heavy, intense, sickly-sweet smell coming from the dumpster.

The flickering orange light had turned out to be a streetlight across the road. Data was clinging to that too, circling it, beating against it like moths might. He wiped his nose and eyes with his sleeve, and breathed out.

He rocked back on his heels and closed his eyes, listening, scenting. Becoming aware of voices, electricity and cars, he seemed to feel the low buzz of human life before he heard it. Beneath the smell of the damp fog, he picked up exhaust fumes. He was back. Finally, he was back.

Hearing what sounded like faint shouts somewhere off to his left, he began to trudge in that direction, hoping for the best. It was difficult to see much through the fog, let alone recognise any landmarks. The relief at being in the right dimension overcame any other worries. He needed help. Human help. He stuck to the road, his head rattling painfully as he moved.

Noticing shapes beyond the thinning fog, he pushed forward, the lifting haze making the air ripple and distort in front of his eyes. Black vans were parked down the street, and there were people - other people! Relief and giddiness washed over him, but then his heart turned over in his chest and the world around him tilted and skewed dangerously. He exhaled. Maybe not the kind he would have wanted to see.

Blacksuits and whitecoats. Old fears souring his mouth, he continued warily, slowing his pace as he neared police tape. The vans were surveillance vans; the kind with tinted-black windows and satellite dishes. There must have been about half-a-dozen armed men. A few blacksuits and whitecoats were gathered around the street. Fantastic. He brushed the data off of his sleeve in the hope he wouldn't look too out of the ordinary, bar the absurd amount of blood, then wondered glumly if he should be asking for directions or an ambulance.

He ducked under the tape, clutching his right forearm awkwardly. No sooner had he stood up, someone was yelling at him not to move. He looked down and found the red dot of a laser sight resting on his chest, which was quickly followed by more, dancing across his sweatshirt. He panicked. Torchlight blasted into his eyes, and blinded, he shielded his eyes with his good arm.

Voices clambered, jumped out of the melee as several people spoke loudly at once. The blood probably looked pretty bad. His throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, squinting into the light. The laser sights were lowered, and while some stared the newcomer down, a woman jogged over to him.

"Come with me, we'll call you an ambulance."

Jaw set, he ignored the stares and trailed closely behind the woman as she weaved through the throng. She stopped next to one of the vans to address a man who was smoking nearby. "Yamaki, here's your proof," she gestured to the young man behind her. "I'll go pick up the first aid kit."

Haru frowned after her as she opened the passenger door and went to rummage in the glove box. 'Here's your proof'? What was that about? His gaze drifted back to the man; blonde scruff lined his chin and his black suit was crumpled.

"You're bleeding," the man said in a conversational kind of way, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes were fixed on the data clinging to the stranger's bloodied sleeve.

The younger man didn't respond.

"It's cordoned off for a reason. What's your name, kid?"

He briefly wondered if he should give his friend's name or make one up, but instead gave in. "Haru. It's Haru."

The woman had thankfully returned, with someone else and a first aid kit in tow. She interrupted the exchange, half-propping a dizzy Haru against the van. He turned his head away from the cloud of cigarette smoke; it made his throat itch. "This is Janyuu, he's medically trained," she introduced the older man as Haru made eye contact with him. His smile was reassuring.

"Let's have a look, shall we?" Haru moved his hand to reveal a large patch of blood soaking through his right sleeve. Janyuu carefully peeled back Haru's sleeve, briefly pausing at the deep, ragged puncture wounds, then rolling it up as far as it would go.

The creature's maw had been wide enough to leave holes running from elbow to wrist. Under normal circumstances, that would have killed him, but it was already halfway healed. Haru stared in fascination at the new wound, blood oozing down, trickling down from the tips of his fingertips to the concrete. The data looked like multicoloured, flickering, jagged glass shards sunk into his skin. He looked up uneasily. Surprise blurred Janyuu's features and nerves coiled in Haru's belly.

Yamaki's expression, however, was harder to read. "What happened?"

"Got bit."

"I can see that much." Cigarette smoke unfurled around him. "What animal was it that bit you?"

Haru stared at the man, trying to think of a less feeble answer, then muttered, "I don't know, I didn't see what it was."

Yamaki's sharp eyes pinned Haru in place. His look spoke of faint annoyance now, he exchanged a glance with Janyuu and walked towards the armed squad with the woman.

Haru found it to be incredibly surreal, seeing the data and the blood at the same time, mixing together. It had been a long time since Haru had bled; in the digital world, it was those polygon shards that appeared whenever your skin opened up. Janyuu snapped him out of his daze.

"Is this something to be concerned about?" Some of the data had half-melted into Haru's skin. Janyuu's face was carefully neutral as he pressed directly to the wound with a clean cloth bunched up in his hand. Maybe it was more surreal that Yamaki hadn't even blinked, and after Janyuu's initial surprise, he had started patching Haru up with the calmness of someone making breakfast. Of course they knew what was going on.

Haru hesitated. "No, it always does that. It's doing the same job as the blood."

"So it's alright to leave it in?"

"Yeah."

Haru quietly wondered to himself who these people were. Military and surveillance vans outside of a digital field; this was about the last place he should have stumbled into for help. At least he still _looked_ human. The fog had almost completely lifted, and the streets were dark and unfamiliar. Dawn's half-light left the sky looking bruised, a wash of pinks and purples. Haru watched Yamaki across the street speaking to the armed squad as he stubbed out his cigarette with a shoe.

Janyuu applied an antibiotic cream, and put a clean dressing on it. Once Haru was patched up, Janyuu paused. "Were you the only one to come through?"

"As far as I know."

"That's good to know, that makes things easier." He began to slowly wrap back up the unused bandages and pack away the first aid gear. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I… think I might have hit my head."

"How do you feel?"

"Splitting headache… dizzy?" Haru gingerly touched the back of his head, feeling his matted hair.

"Ah, let me check." Haru dipped his head and gestured at the general area vaguely and Janyuu touched the back of his head, parting his hair to look. "There's a small cut, but it doesn't look to be serious. You might have a concussion."

"I woke up on the pavement, hope I didn't hit it too hard."

Janyuu looked concerned. "We'll take you back and get your head checked out, but you should be okay."

Dumbly, Haru only nodded. He gritted his teeth, feeling more lightheaded.

"Yamaki is predictable if not anything else; he'll want you ID'd. But we'll still be able to…"

Somewhere inbetween the aches and pains fighting for attention, Janyuu's voice became muffled and started to fade into the background. Though his mouth was moving, no words were coming out. Black bled into Haru's vision like ink into water, sweat began to gather under his arms and twinges of pain shot down his legs. The injuries and exhaustion all came crashing together; sinking back weakly against the van, he blacked out.

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**Chapter completed on 7/5/14.**

Reviews and feedback would be really appreciated.

**-Sanst**


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